


Somniphobia

by delgaserasca



Category: NCIS
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-03
Updated: 2009-12-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delgaserasca/pseuds/delgaserasca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ziva cannot sleep. (Episode tag to 7x01.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somniphobia

How will I return to you, my city,  
where is the road to your lights? My hopes  
are in retreat, exhausted by these unlit, broken walls,  
and my heart, their leader, is in terrible doubt.  
**faiz ahmed faiz, _city of lights_**  


 

 

 

 

Flights — to and from Tel Aviv, to and from Europe, but never one so long as the one which eventually takes her back to America. Ziva wants to sleep but can't remember how; her head is full of static, and every limb burns with movement. Head back against the side of the plane, her hand is fisted in her harness and she doesn't dare open her eyes lest reality fall away and leave her back in that room, tied to that chair.

Gibbs is watching; Gibbs is waiting.

 

 

 

 

There are delays. Customs, phone calls, medical checks - the list goes on. Ziva keeps her hands folded tightly one on top of the other, her fingers laced, and her eyes downcast. She moves when the others move. She does not speak.

It doesn't take long to realise that the others have set up a defensive perimeter; Tony to the front, Gibbs bringing up the rear, and Tim hovering uncertainly at her periphery. She wishes he would take one step closer - or one further away, she doesn't care. Anything to keep him from triggering her anxiety, half-there, half-not. She walks slowly towards the waiting car. She takes her time, one foot and then the next.

At the door to vehicle, she falters, then decides instantaneously that she will ride in the back. Hands unclench experimentally, and then it's all go, door open, a slight bend in the knee and a lift into the car, her teeth gritted against the pain. She settles into the seat, but doesn't exhale.

She stays that way until the burning in her lungs is more trouble than the one in her legs, and then releases the air slowly between pursed lips. An old trick, something her brother taught her; always hold your breath.

 

 

 

 

Maybe she does fall asleep. Maybe she never woke up. Maybe she is in her father's house and not in America and not at home and not —

The car stops abruptly at a red light; Ziva stirs. The whole world pulses at the corners of her vision. Tony watches her and pretends not to.

So maybe she can sleep. Maybe she just doesn't want to.

 

 

 

 

When she sees the building — when Gibbs pulls into the garage at a measured pace, and the fluorescent bulbs shine a glare on her bruises — when she puts her feet back on the ground —

That's when she panics. That's when she convinces herself it's a trick of the mind.

No-one says anything, but Tony steps up behind her, close enough to make her spine stiffen with surprise, and then they walk like that, close but not quite, all the way to the elevator. Now Tony is at the edge of her senses, and Tim in front, but Gibbs has still _got her six_ , and she can feel him watching her. She doesn't turn until they're all in the elevator and she is at the back, protected on all sides. It should make her feel better, but it doesn't.

She closes her eyes, and that helps. It helps.

 

 

 

 

The elevator rises. Ziva holds her breath.

 

 

 

 

The doors open.

Gibbs exits first, his fatigues still sweating dust, and his hair falling over his eyes. Tim next, and Tony prompts her again by moving in too close, like a gun at her back. Ziva shuffles out to applause but she knows instinctively that it is not for her. She feels a chill caught in her spine; she moves forward only out of instinct.

When Abby approaches, then Ziva begins to feel the first swells of relief, sharp and bright and caught noiselessly in her mouth. Abby reaches out, and it takes every last ounce of strength for Ziva to not collapse into her welcoming embrace. Saying nothing for once, Abby's arms are a comfort and not an assault; Ziva cannot speak so she does not try, and something inside her loosens imperceptibly, another kind of pain, this one dull and low in her belly. She feels hollow; she feels heavy and graceless, and she cannot move. She cannot be moved.

The applause continues, though she cannot hear it. Ziva exhales, is exhausted, thinks _at last, at last_ and still cannot move.

**end.**


End file.
